At last, by the glimmer of the lantern which Job had now unmasked, the captain saw among the ivy a small door.
"Here we go in," said Job. "Stand back a bit; it opens outward."
"But," said the captain, now driven to desperation, "it is impossible. A step back is death."
"Cling to the ivy, then, and don't look down," retorted Job, coolly.
The captain took the advice, and Job opened the door.
With a spring, the captain landed beyond the threshold beside Job, and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.
Job grinned.
"A hard bit, bean't it? But it's nothing when you are used to it. I've done it, off and on, three times a week, for the last three years. Now see: In front of ye is the master's study. This old door, by a whim of his, was left behind the bookcase; the bookcase opens out to it, and it was through that, ye see, we came t'other night. Look'ee here."
He touched a spring as he spoke, and passed through the opening bookcase into the study.